Rock Star Hour

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

"Mom, will you go through these with me? Because I don't want to forget anybody," I said.

I went through a stack of blue and white stamped envelopes. I was determined to not only buy Christmas cards this year but to send them. Only half went out before Christmas -- I hadn't been home in awhile, and needed to raid my mom's address book before I could send the other half.

"Uncle Jim and Aunt Sherry, Sue and Wayne, Amber, Aunt Helen, Beckie and Luke --"

"Grandma and grandpa ..."

"Yep, I got grandma and grandpa ... and Uncle Bill ... Joan ..."

"I think that's good."

"OK, thanks, Mom. I just didn't want to leave anybody out. I got Linda, Les, Lisa and Jeff already, from Nana ..."

I didn't want to leave anybody out. And I would have sent more if I had more. I had made a list of friends and family members, and a few coworkers who have been nothing but nice to me. A few who have gone above and beyond for me sometimes, for no apparent reason, other than just being real people, with really good hearts.

I gave Gus a card. Gus has always sort of taken me under his wing. I once was calling around the restaurant, frantically. He took my shift. He could just tell how important it was to me, no questions asked. My sister, Christina, was coming to town. She was only going to be here for one hour, at the airport, in between flights, going home from a vacation she had taken with a friend.

I had never met Christina in person, and never imagined we would meet for the first time in a terminal; or that we would have a woman who worked there take our picture; or that she would be so small but look just like us; or that we would go outside to the garage, and she would smoke while we would talk, and then several hugs later, we would part ways again.

That's sort of what this year has been like. I don't know how to explain it better than that.

I didn't have a camera this Christmas. I tried to call my sister to bring hers, but she was already on her way.

I've had this horrible feeling I'm too scared to admit. I went home and spent the night last night. My mother was so sick. She had chemo for the first time in three weeks. She usually goes every other week, but had postponed things an extra week because of my sister's baby shower this month, and lots of family coming to town.

She said for some reason after three weeks rather than two she gets sicker. She didn't know why.

My mother can't eat anything. She says her throat, from the chemo feels like it has pins and needles in it for days afterwards. Sometimes she's so thirsty she just wants a glass of water, but she can't drink it.

Nothing tastes like it should, so on top of the pain, she can barely make herself eat, because she can't taste things. Even when they sound good; they never taste like they should.

The doctors said the pain in her throat is caused by ulcers that form as a result of the chemo. But so far after three different medicines, they can't seem to get it tolerable for her. They were talking about doing more tests, to make sure nothing else is wrong, but I don't know.

My mom had been hoping to go to Austin with my dad for New Year's. I thought it was a great idea. They could just get out, see somewhere different, and have a good time. But the doctor's want to do a check-up the 31st, to see if the chemo is working yet on her liver. I said, "to see that it IS working on your liver, right?"

I don't know what this is about. I guess I just feel like writing, and I feel so strange. The happiness of Christmas and holidays and family mixed with so much sadness and uncertainty. The horrible fear I was talking about.

My sister, on the way home from my aunt's tonight, kept talking about how thin mom looked. She has lost so much weight. We've got to encourage her to eat, we said. And talked about how it's hard to know what to do or how to feel. And that we should be hopeful, and try not to think about how unfair all this seems.

I feel like that all the time. "Why her?" I know everybody gets sick from something one day. What I really know and am afraid to say is that everybody dies. But she's not dead. She's just sick, I say. And then this voice in my head says, "What if this is the last Christmas?" And this other voice says, "Don't say that! How could you even think that. It's Not!"

I must sound crazy, but I do not care. I do not care one bit.

All these people I know, and some that I don't even know, have been praying for my mother. People in churches on opposite ends of this country have been saying prayers for her. My Nana told me people are praying for her. And people from friends' churches have sent cards. I say thank you when people tell me that.

I asked my mom is she could to also say a prayer for another friend of mine, whose mother went in the hospital just days ago, and now she is in a coma. My heart goes out to him, and at the same time, I feel lucky. In this fucked up way, I feel lucky. But in this other fucked up way, I think his mother is lucky, because for now she is not in such pain.

These conflicting thoughts are so hard to deal with sometimes. And seeing my mother this way, even though I'd rather see her like this if it means she will get better.

But I already think of how angry I will be if she goes through all this for nothing. I guess not for nothing, but fuck, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't.

I had a good cry last night. Renee said she couldn't wait to get home so she could cry. I thought I was done after yesterday, but here I am again.

I remember one time I met the mayor of the fifth ward. He came to this journalism class I was taking and spoke. He said, if you could, to write a letter to your parents, or whoever you love, whoever your heroes are, and tell them. Tell them exactly how you feel. Tell them so they will know.

I guess that's why this Christmas, I am so frustrated. Maybe that's why I'm writing this. Because I walk around in the world, or maybe I'm at work, or whatever, but I see people. And you can tell sometimes, if you look enough, which ones know and which ones don't. And you just want to scream sometimes so they could know what it is not your place to say, the words they want to hear from some person that is so close but has never really been there. Say what you want. Tell everyone. Be real, and live at least one true moment with someone you care about.

If we could do that at least sometimes, we could always have Christmas. Whenever we wanted it.

Labels: Cancer, Christmas